Horcrux Boy
by MarauderWitch
Summary: In his fifth year, Harry was overcome by strong emotions and that fortified a part of his mind that he did not know how strong it could be. Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.


**Horcrux Boy**

How freeing it was to finally be able to feel … unrestricted. After fourteen years of being stuck in a little boy's head, hearing him whine about the chores their aunt and uncle forced him to do or the large clothes from his cousin that he had no choice but to wear them. He had to admit though things got a little bit better when the boy learnt that he was a wizard — though he did not know yet that he was even more special, that a piece of the most powerful wizard of all times lived within him. Fool — and went to Hogwarts; still lost Quidditch matches and approaching exams were a constant reminder that he needed freedom, that the space reserved for him was in no way enough for the power he conceived.

At long last, thanks to a piece of magic hidden in ancient text books, the Master was whole again, no longer needing to live of charity of another — undoubtedly unworthy of his magnitude — being. From that moment onwards, it became somewhat easier to share the boy's head. The power emanating from Voldemort himself was making it stronger and when the boy went to sleep, when he was at his weakest state of mind, it could practically control him. It felt the Master's wishes then.

For months and months the Master was obsessed with the Ministry of Magic. The fixation was so strong that the boy could no longer dream, he could only see what the Master wanted and it got imprinted on his retina to the point that the whining boy remembered it even when he was not sleeping. Perhaps it was mercy that he did not recollect fully just what the Master wanted, just what that door down in the deepest level of the Ministry meant.

The human emotions, which used to be so disgusting and repulsive, now were fortifying it. It pained him. Throughout the day, the boy felt it burning on his forehead. How much pleasure it came from that pain! The anger the boy felt against the unfairness of the situation he was living him was a blessing. Though it was well aware that it was not strong enough to overcome the boy in a conscious state, it allowed him to nearly set free. Should it tell the Master to thank that Umbridge from the Ministry of Magic? Oh no. It was a certainly a pleasure for her to be able to give her Master just what he wanted from the piece of soul within the boy's mind. It was her job. She had to do it and she had done it. The end.

At some point, it must have been too obvious that the boy was weak for that old, senile headmaster forced him to learn how to close his mind. And, truth to be told, there were rare moments in which the boy could do it. Thanks to that bat Severus Snape. Wasn't he at the Master's side? He was playing a part though. Fooling Dumbledore to think that his alliance lied with him just so the Master could get important information. He was good at that. Snape could close his mind as perfectly as the Master himself. A part well played. Maybe even too well played.

And it was thanks to him, to the Death Eater infiltrated at Hogwarts, where Dumbledore never thought they would be, that the Master knew about the boy's weakness and he took advantage of it.

* * *

Harry had been studying countless hours for the O.W.L.s. As if Hogwarts final exams weren't enough, Hermione had wanted to review every bit of information they had been given throughout the year. At least Ron had been able to convince her to do it at the grounds and not at the hot Gryffindor common room. Now they were trying to see who recalled the ingredients of the Draught of Peace by heart.

Harry had barely slept the night before. He had thought that four hours would be enough. It wasn't. Well, he could walk and talk and convince Hermione that he was well and even read the notes she had made with her tiny handwriting. But it wasn't enough to keep his head from burning. Still, part of him suspected that the pain's cause was not only the lack of proper sleep for the last week. The pain was centred in his lightening shaped scar. He would invariably bring his hand to it, as if he could ease the pain by scratching the scar. Years of experience had thought him that he could not, but still, he tried. He tried just so he did not feel powerless in the face of what he was feeling.

The Order was working hard to stop Voldemort from getting that … weapon. That much he knew. Whatever the weapon was, Voldemort would not reach it as long as they kept guard at that place he saw Mr Weasley be attacked. He just wished the Order had a special way to stop his scar from hurting. A Numbing Spell, some sort of potion — Better not a potion. A potion would mean Snape would be the one to boil it. And he had had enough of him with Occlumency. Harry wished it didn't remind him of how much his scar would hurt on the following day. Part of him was convinced that he never truly abandoned his status as a former Death Eater.

'**Harry!**'

'_What?_' Wide-eyed and surprised, he looked at Hermione, sitting upright.

'You were sleeping?' It sounded much more like an accusation rather than a question.

'No,' he answered automatically.

'You sure, mate?' Even Ron was eyeing him suspiciously. 'You had your head on your hand like this …' And he placed his hand on his forehead, supporting all the head's weight and for a moment there, Ron seemed too comfortable. Hermione was driving them all mental.

'I asked what is the main ingredient of the Strengthening Solution!'

'Er …'

'Salamander Blood, Harry!' She was exasperated. 'Oh come on!' Hermione started gathering all her books and the rolls of parchment. 'It's useless if you're that tired,' she sighed.

And they went back to the Gryffindor tower. Harry hoped he could get at least half an hour of a good sleep without dreaming of that bloody door at the Ministry yet again. Though at this point, if his scar stopped hurting, he would consider it a blessing!


End file.
